


Wandering Stars

by moranth



Category: Mass Effect
Genre: M/M, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:56:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7219648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moranth/pseuds/moranth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything’s changed after the Reaper War. Everyone’s grown apart and settled into lives hat don’t quite fit. After receiving some startling information, Garrus drops everything and books a trip across the galaxy to see for himself if it’s true. Along the way he meets others whose experiences with the war are vastly different from his own. </p><p>This involves a custom Shep who exists in some other stories, but it’s not necessary to read them to be able to follow this.</p><p>Art by DalishGrey: http://dalishgrey.deviantart.com/art/Wandering-Stars-615748182?ga_submit_new=10%253A1466104212</p><p>Beta'd by Kalenel</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Efforts continue on the outskirts of what was once called one of the greatest cities in the world as both the US and Earth as a whole struggle to regain some measure of normalcy. Acting governor Adrien Diaz oversees much of the reconstruction from her headquarters in the southern New York city of Warwick, when she’s not convening with 70 other politicians that make up what’s now known as the Eastern Approach, one of 7 factions trying to stitch the country back together which convenes twice a week.

“Governor Diaz, an alderman for a small district in the state’s capital of Albany prior to the invasion, was optimistic about the outcome of the most recent meeting of the city-states. She had this to say.

“ _Since the war, we’ve had influx of immigration from the colonies. These people want to come back home. They want to see things get back together as badly as those who were here, see things through_ _,_ _and we welcome them. More hands make for quick work, you know. Right now, we’ve got hands to spare. The city might not get back to its former glory in my lifetime, but it’s gonna happen. Wait and see.”_

“With R-Day, the eighth anniversary of the Reaper War quickly approaching, the event that left no one in the galaxy unchanged is on many minds. Governor Diaz, New York, and the galaxy at large prepare to remember all those who were lost in the weeks following the Reaper’s entrance into our world. But during this time of remembrance and reflection, we should spare a moment for those still reported missing, and the most notable among them, Commander Russell Shepard. “

The TV droned on, but Garrus tuned it out, favoring the dull hum of the bar’s patrons to tales of celebrity depravity. He’d never been to Digeris before, but what he’d seen of it, he liked. War had visited the planet as well, and signs of wear were nearly everywhere you looked, but Digeris had spunk. It had persevered. It was one of the few places that had been able to fend off a Reaper attack with minimal casualties. As if it was some sort of reward, Digeris had been upgraded from a nondescript colony to a transit hub of turian space. The Hierarchy was still recovering, like this _New York_ , but it hadn’t yet flatlined.

Similar news stories were playing out all over. The news from Palaven mirrored what he’d just heard from Earth. Everywhere, everyone was happy to be alive. On every planet Garrus visited, the day of the invasion had transformed from a quiet day of mourning to celebration of life, full of booze and revelry. Garrus’ own uptight people were getting in on it. It was hard not to. In times like these, good feelings were more infectious than bad.

Garrus was bellied up to the bar, drink in hand, in a tiny pub nestled within Digeris’ ever expanding port, getting a head start on the R-Day festivities, so to speak. He’d intended to spend the two hours between his flights quietly getting sloshed. The table behind him had other ideas.

Three young turians crowded around a table a few feet behind Garrus and to his left. They’d come in about an hour ago and had spent their time keeping their human server running back and forth with frivolous requests for more napkins, another helping of the little fruits that come floating in the drinks, sending their drinks back because there was too much ice in them and then too little until the asari bartender put a stop to it. Other than tormenting the staff, they hadn’t appeared to be paying much attention to much of anything beyond their drinks and shallow conversation. Sadly, at least one of them had heard the end of that broadcast.

“You hear that? They’re airing a special for that human Shepard.” The speaker spat out the words, a sneer in his voice. Garrus knew his type. Loud, brash. There was no such thing as negative attention to this guy. He likely stirred up shit every chance he got. If there’d been a way to wash out of mandatory service, that whole “look at me” attitude would have clinched this guy a transport ride home. Garrus suspected there were a variety of issues at play with an emphasis on the Daddy variety. There was a lot of that going around.

“The special’s for everyone,” a more rational member of their table offered, only to be shut down.

“That’s what they say, but you know it’s a load of shit. They’ll hint at what the other races contributed, but don’t kid yourself. We all know who they’re gonna paint as some sort of _big damn hero_.” He snorted. A chair creaked as someone shifted. “Why doesn’t Digeris get a special? We took down _a reaper!_ Without any help or back up. How many places can say that?”

The second turian spoke up again. “Not that it’s a competition, but he took down _all_ the reapers. You saw that vid. He got sucked up in that beam and ten minutes later—bam! All dead! He deserves a special.”

Garrus might have to buy him a drink if this kept up.

“He’s not so great,” a third chimed in. “Is there anyone alive with a higher mortality rate with almost half the number being friendly casualties under their command?”

The beginnings of a headache buzzed at the backs of Garrus’ eyes. Most of the last 20 hours had been spent in transit, and he was looking at 15 more at the least. Garrus’ patience was already razor thin. If chugging the rest of his drink wouldn’t have made the situation worse, Garrus would have done it and gotten the hell out of here. He kept sipping it instead and would come to regret that decision.

“Not that I’ve heard,” the first said, smugness oozing from him like a noxious fog. “How many people died under his command on Torfan? I didn’t like batarians either, but using his own damn people as cannon fodder was fucking brutal.” The turian barked a laugh, muffled by his nose in his cup. “Then he tried to finish the job on Bahak! I didn’t think humans could be so cold blooded. That’s some krogan level shit.”

Never mind that it was under that _other_ human’s command—Major Kyle or whoever—or that Shepard was a first lieutenant at the time or that they had no other options. Just heap all that guilt on Shepard’s shoulders. Kyle had buckled under the pressure, leaving all this to a junior officer. Had Shepard followed his superior’s example and done nothing, the numbers would have been so much worse when you took into account how many abductions and slavery related deaths had been averted. But if these guys wanted to bitch and moan about matters they had no business talking about, far be it for Garrus to interrupt.

The only level headed member among the group spoke up again for all the good it did. “Our people have done their share of dirt. The First Contact War? That didn’t have to go down like that. And then there’s our hand in the genophage.”

“Those were all _enemy_ casualties. Not that anyone really cares about the krogan or a few humans. And I’m not saying a turian has never been sacrificed for a cause, but it’s always been on _our_ terms.”

Garrus shook his head and took another sip of his whiskey. _Our terms_. What did that even mean? In a few minutes he’d be out of here, settling into his uncomfortable seat, putting whoever’s rotten children these were far behind him. That’s exactly what they sounded like: children trying to speak on adult issues without the knowledge or intelligence to do so. They could shit talk all they wanted, this was a free planet, but they should have done so in private. He hadn’t signed up to play audience to this conversation.

The third member of their party finally spoke up in a poor approximation of a whisper that anyone within ten feet of them could hear him fine.

Chair legs scraped across the floor as the tablemates huddled loser. “What was the deal with that guy who hung around in the background all the time?”

“I know who you’re talking about,” the first voice said, excited and drunk, slurring his words. “His name started with _Va_. Varucus? Varrent?”

“Something like that,” the third voice went on. “I can’t remember. All I know is for the longest time, every time you saw one, you saw the other… Do you think there was something going on between them?”

“Who cares?” The first turian fired back. “That spur licker’s not a real turian, so who cares what he does? He’s got no dignity sniffing round after a human the way he did.”

The trio paused to wet their throats.

“What was his name again?” the first member mused. “This is gonna bother me all day!”

“I remember he was in the news for a while, being praised for helping Shepard find Victus.”

The first turian one made a low sound of distaste in the back of his throat. “Another human lover. I bet they both took turns getting on all fours for Shepard like a couple of varren.” He laughed at his own witticism, his table mates, not so much.

“I’ve got it,” turian two said to the table. “He has that big scar on the right side of his face.”

“I remember that,” turian three chimed in. “He looks like old ground meat.” That got a better response in the humor department.

Turian two continued. “His dad used to work with mine on the Citadel when it was still open, but this was ages ago. 15? 20 years? Anyway, the family name was--”

“Vakarian.” Garrus slapped down a credit chit with more force than he’d meant to use, but found absolutely necessary. He turned to face the young turians as he stood and took grim satisfaction in the surprise that swept through their group.

They all bore the same light blue Digeris markings across their brows and down their mandibles as he’d assumed they would. They were also kids just like he’d guessed going by the sound of them. Before the Reaper War, he would have assumed they were fresh out of boot. But a lot of childhoods were cut short the day those monsters rent the skies over the planets of the Hierarchy. Each one had a hollowness about the eyes that before the war, Garrus had only seen in veterans twice their age. Now it was everywhere. They’d likely seen some things, lost friends and relatives like everyone else Garrus had come across since R-Day. That was no excuse for being a bunch of little shits.

“Be glad it was me who overheard you talking about the Primarch like that and not someone with an anger problem.” That wasn’t to say the sum of the years before and after the war hadn’t left their mark on _him_. He had his moments of poor judgment and snap reactions like anyone else. Taking out his frustrations on these three was beneath him. For today.

“I don’t have the time to sit here and lecture you about all we’ve gotten accomplished under Primarch Victus.” Garrus paused here and glanced at his omnitool for effect. “Or the personal sacrifices he’s had to make for the good of all of us. Everyone’s entitled to their own opinions, but sometimes some other, bigger guy’s going to express his opinion in a way that’s a lot more vocal and painful than yours.”

Challenge rose in one of the brat’s eyes, likely the one with the most to say. Holding his tongue was burning the kid up inside, and Garrus was going to relish every second of it. Right about now the trio was probably remembering that being close to Shepard wasn’t all Garrus was known for.

He’d been in C-Sec himself for years and even before that, he’d earned himself the reputation of sniping specialist. He’d sounded the first warnings on Palaven, faced down the Reapers himself there long before Shepard arrived. There were also the rumors about his days on Omega, which he’d never publicly denied.

He left the boys there, mouths agape, as he headed for his gate. He had two days of flying left on this trip, and it was off to a _great_ start.

After the war was over, and the squad had gone their separate ways, after Shepard… Garrus had wanted to fade into the background like everyone else. He should have known better. His father and Victus had both browbeaten him into taking this position. “It’s a gift,” he’d said. Victus had seen to it that this position was created especially for Garrus. He remembered what Garrus had done to get him off Menae, about what had happened with his son. He saw this as a reward, but for Garrus, it was an inconvenience as best, a punishment at most. A good turian’s work was never done, they’d said. He’d argued that he’d never been much of a good turian, but in his father’s words: There was a first time for everything.

The job consisted mostly of busy work. Traveling from planet to planet, checking and making sure new structures were up to code, that there wasn’t any corruption in terms of food distribution was a job anyone could do. Yet they’d chosen to make him the head of this Palaven Anti-Corruption Unit, parading his face out front every chance they got.

Garrus didn’t want all this responsibility. He couldn’t readily shirk it, but he made himself aware of the intentions of those around him.

Victus and his father were working together to groom him for a job he’d never agreed to with a gun held to his head. He saw it coming from far enough away that he could avoid it when they pulled back the curtain and revealed what their true motives were all along. He had no clue as to what made them think he would make a good Primarch, but his father and Victus would be in for a nasty surprise when the time came.

This work wasn’t what Garrus thought he’d be doing at this point in his life, but he knew it was necessary. Anytime there was tragedy, there would always be the cunning few who sought to capitalize, like a viper among field mice.

He’d given the last eight years of his life to his position when it was needed most. Things had slowed down enough now that Garrus thought he could slowly step away without being missed. Officially, he was taking some well-deserved leave, with an open return date. His apartment was being sublet in his absence, but all of his valuables and personal effects had been moved into storage. Anyone who’d taken the time to get to know him would have seen this coming months ago. Lucky for him, no one had bothered trying to get close.


	2. Chapter 2

Invictus sunlight poured in through the wide transport terminal windows, bathing Garrus in warmth and helping him produce some sorely needed Vitamin D. Being on all those shuttles back to back was basically asking for a cold. The last time he’d been able to just relax like this had to have been before the job. Maybe even before the war.

These days, Garrus was indoors more than he was out. On any given day he was either on site conducting walk-throughs of various facilities designed to be better than what had been destroyed but too often came up short, or he was stuck behind his desk answering inquiries like what could be done to bring their facility up to code, how could they be more helpful, blah blah. He was a glorified bureaucrat, rooted in the very society he’d been trying to avoid most of his life.

Why hadn’t he noticed that before?

He opened his omnitool and started rifling through his inbox. Despite the fact that the notice of his leave had made the rounds, new messages kept trickling in. He had too much work ethic to leave the messages to waste, neglected and unanswered.

What his auto responder didn’t catch, he forwarded on to the appropriate department where they got to be someone else’s problem. Several systems away, there wasn’t anything he could do about it if he wanted to, which he decidedly did not.

_Where are you? Contact me, please._

Those six words were enough to turn the pastry crumbs in his mouth to cinders, to cool the cup of warm caf in his hand to tepid swill. He swiped the message the trash without a second thought. Garrus had already told his father everything he needed to know about his time off: He was taking it and didn’t know when he’d be back. They were free to fill his vacant post—Garrus encouraged it! Resigning outright would have made more sense, but it wasn’t worth the suspicion it would raise. Discretion trumped convenience, however. He promised to check in from time to time when he felt like it. That time was definitely not now.

He finished going through his messages and started to pack his omnitool away, when it shook with the rhythmic vibrations of an alert. He knew who it was before he looked at it. If he didn’t answer now, he’d just keep calling.

“Why didn’t you respond to my message?” His father, Aegeus, had opted for a video call to try and suss out Garrus’ location from his surroundings. All he’d see were row upon row of black plastic seats. The interior of a transit hub just like any other. That wasn’t enough to figure out what planet he was on or where he was headed. Garrus, on the other hand, knew exactly where his father was.

The heavy dark curtains behind Aegeus Vakarian were thrown open on the floor to ceiling windows in his study, rippling with the breeze. Garrus thought he could smell it from here, scented with the moon flowers in the garden just outside, planted by Sol for their mother.  The Helos night glittered behind him, a dazzling backdrop that clashed with his father’s usually stoic demeanor and drab, no nonsense clothes. It had to be late there. Hopefully his father’s need for sleep would make this brief.

“How do you know I saw your message?”

“Call it intuition.” His father sipped from a steaming mug at his left hand casually as his keen eyes appraised Garrus’ surroundings. “Where are you?”

“In a transport hub.”

“No kidding?” Aegeus used sarcasm sparingly, but it landed well when he did. “Believe it or not, I was able to figure out as much on my own. I meant what planet? What system?”

“How do you know I’m not on Palaven?”

“Paternal instinct.”

Garrus rolled his eyes. “Can’t your _instinct_ tell you where I am?”

“Of course it could,” his father said. “It just means more if you tell me of your own volition.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“Were you always this dramatic? I was just telling the truth. Should I lie to you now to preserve your feelings? Would you prefer that?”

Garrus groaned and a flock of quarians looked up at him from where they huddled around a single omnitool, decked out in fancy new environmental suits straight from Rannoch. He could feel them scowling at him from beneath their semi-opaque masks.

Things had never been this good between Garrus in his father in his adult life. They still had their rough patches, but Garrus would take a rocky relationship over none at all. He could deal with this as long as he took it one annoyance at a time.

“I’d rather not say where I’m going. It’s a personal matter.”

Aegeus laughed from somewhere deep in his rounded belly. “You did always love having your little secrets. Are you off to see that quarian girl of yours?”

Garrus bristled with frustration. He’d told his father that months ago. “We broke it off a while back. Things weren’t working out.” He and Tali had spoken every day, visited each other frequently, but the distance was too much to overcome. She was busy helping her people while Garrus helped his. The last he’d heard she was still single. They’d parted on good terms, and who knew? Once things were more stable, they might reconnect, but that wouldn’t be anytime soon and certainly not during the course of this trip. Garrus got the impression that his father truly did remember. He was fishing.

“I remember when you were little, and you hid that pyjak in your closet for three weeks! Your mother and I had no idea. Do you remember any of that?”

“Of course.” Garrus had named the pyjak Jintim. He acutely remembered how hard feeding and getting rid of Jintim’s waste in secret had been. Far too much responsibility for a ten year old.

“When we finally chased it out of the house, we all had to get vaccinated against any kind of offworld pathogens it might have been carrying. Sol was so angry with you for that.” His laughter was infectious, and Garrus found himself fighting off chuckles too.

He watched his father wipe a tear from the corner of his eye as his laughter died down. He adopted a much more somber tone when he spoke again. “Whatever this secret is, I hope it brings you back in one piece. Your secrecy tends to almost always end up in some sort of pain for you. Or, as in the case of the pyjak, for others as well.”

“You sound like you’re going soft, old man.”                                                                          

“Living to see the birth of your first grandchild will do strange things to you. If you get started on having children now, you might live to see some grandchildren. Your sister already has a head start on you. And if I recall correctly, you haven’t seen your niece yet. So you need to work that into your itinerary.”

“Yes, yes,” Garrus scoffed. He didn’t need Aegeus to tell him that. Helos was the next stop on this sabbatical, though he couldn’t say when he’d make it out that way. He wasn’t in any sort of rush.

All of his secrets had come to light on R-Day. Every inconsistency, everything he’d kept from his family, from his sister, had come to light in a jarring way. Solana knew it all. Too bad knowledge didn’t automatically equal forgiveness. She’d invited him to visit her, to meet her husband and daughter several times, and he’d found a way to be busy every time. The last time they’d been together had been disastrous. She’d given him the cold shoulder, and when she did deign to speak to him, the conversation had always turned accusatory. He wasn’t looking forward into walking into that, and he was all out of reasons to put it off.

Motion around the gate caught Garrus’ eye. The flight crew started crowding around. The doors to the gate opened, and the pilots disappeared inside. He was running out of time. “Listen, dad. I’m gonna get ready to go. I need to send off a few messages and make some calls.”

“I just worry about you. You’re grown and going to do what you’re going to do, I just…” His father quieted down as a flight attendant taking up the microphone behind the desk in front of his gate drowned out everything else within Garrus’ range of hearing.

“Good afternoon! My name is Kipper, and I’d like to the first to welcome you aboard Argo Transport Lines! In just a minute here, we’ll begin boarding for shuttle 4671, nonstop service from Kron, Lebotin, Invictus to East Coast Transit Center, United States of America, Earth.”

Aegeus’ mandibles twitched. Now an announcement that close by didn’t automatically mean it was for Garrus’ flight. It could have come from behind him or next to him. The only thing Aegeus should have gotten from that was that Garrus was on Invictus. But the Vakarians were a quick witted lot. The catalog of info Aegeus had on his son went by his eyes in a blink.

“Earth? You’re going to Earth? Why?”

His voice boomed through Garrus’ earpiece, making him flinch in pain. _This_ over reaction was why Garrus hadn’t told him in the first place! The group of quarians several looked his way again as they stood to go mill around the gate. It would be just his luck that they were getting on the same flight!

“I’ve got to go. I can’t do this now.” Garrus closed the video chat before Aegus could yell in his ear again. This trip was stressful enough without adding his familial issues to it. He shouldn’t have answered the call at all, but there were times when his body was on autopilot. His reason center shut down, and son instinct kicked in. He overcame it most days but on others, he picked up calls when he knew better.

The shuttled started boarding shortly after that. Garrus waited until the quarians were well entrenched where he could no longer feel their judgmental, monolithic gaze before he joined the line.

His seat was well away from the group, too. He could finally relax.  His seat neighbor was absent, so he stretched out onto the other side of the armrest until they arrived. Garrus was prepared for takeoff, but not the 20 minute wait that followed. His fellow passengers were restless and agitated by the time the person they’d been waiting for all this time shuffled down the aisle. They sat down without a word, pulling layers of worn brown cloth around them. Garrus hastily stowed his bag under his belongings under his seat and out of the way. “Sorry about that.” His new seat mate didn’t offer him any thanks, but that was fine. He hadn’t really expected one. He’d take a silent, if rude, neighbor over one who talked too much.

All was smooth sailing after that. Take off and atmobreak were seamless in a way Joker had never been able to achieve with the Normandy. That must be the difference between civilian comfort and military efficiency. At least… that was how Garrus remembered it.

The shudder of the craft made everything rattle, down to the teeth in his head, but that might have been from the tension that came with knowing that the next time you got off the ship might be your last. The memories were impossible to separate now so long after the fact. That was one thing he didn’t miss about those days.  

Yes, everything was running with the consistent comfort he’d come to expect of consumer travel. Garrus started dozing, chin to his chest, and would have been fine spending most of the trip like that, if his seat mate hadn’t jostled him awake.

He glanced over, tired and irate, to see his fellow passenger doubled over, their head between their knees. They moaned pitifully, though no one else seemed to notice.

“Are you alright? Should I call an attendant?” Garrus started to reach for the call button, but a hand shot out from beneath the robes and grabbed his arm.

“I’m…fine.”

That gravelly voice almost sounded like a batarians but there was a strange quality that Garrus couldn’t put his finger on…

His seatmate leaned back into their seat. The cloth they’d been hiding behind fell away from their face, revealing a familiar mouth lined with those sharp, pointy teeth. The batarian was breathing pretty hard.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The last thing he wanted was this person to be sick in this closed in space.

His seatmate turned towards him for the first time, and he could finally see them clearly. The features were different from others of their race he’d encountered before. The face was a little thinner, more oval shaped and less creased and the eyes were larger than others he’d seen and almost round. It was like the variations he’d seen in humans, but… different.

“I’m OK… I’m just not used to all this travel. And this isn’t exactly a great time for me to be doing it, if you get my meaning.” The voice was also higher in pitch, but not by much. The batarian put a hand over its belly. “I’m not over the morning sickness yet, though I know it’s late afternoon by Kron time by now.” The batarian shrugged. “It’s morning somewhere.”

Morning sickness… So his seatmate was a pregnant female. That made two firsts for Garrus.

He grabbed the courtesy water from the back of the seat in front of him. The bottle in front of her seat was already empty. “Take this if you need it.”

The batarian hesitated, staring at the bottle in Garrus’ grip with longing. Skepticism flared in the larger set of her dark eyes before her gaze darted between the bottle and Garrus’ face. She snatched the bottle from him and shrank back onto her side of the seat.

She unscrewed the top and carefully took a sip. She rolled the water around the inside of her mouth before she finally swallowed. She heaved a sigh. “Thanks. I needed that.”

Garrus was just glad she wasn’t going to puke all over their little area. He sat back in his seat, content that the potential crisis had been averted. He thought that would be the end of their interaction, but that small act loosened the batarian’s tongue.

He learned her name (Myrra) and where she came from (“all over”). Within the last six months, she’d come of age and married within days of each other. Garrus had some questions about that, but didn’t think it his place to ask about something so personal.

Myrra told Garrus a lot about herself. When she was done, she looked to him expectantly, silently asking him to share as well. He had to give her _something_.

He told her his first name and where he’d started his journey. All he said of the journey itself was that he was going to visit a friend. He left out everything he thought too boring or telling of his true identity. She wasn’t a trio of shitbags kicking dirt on someone’s name. She was alone and saying anything more might seem strange.

“So,” he said, eager to change the topic from himself, “what brings you to Earth?” Was it just a transfer point? There wasn’t much out that way these days, unless she had an interest in abandoned Prothean archeological sites and the same restoration efforts going on everywhere else in the galaxy. Either way, Garrus hoped she was near the end of her trip. He thought he’d heard somewhere traveling while pregnant was to be avoided.

Travel was easier now that it had been right after the close of the war. The hysteria involved with using Mass Relays had died down significantly since then, though, people used them only when necessary, but they’d lost their hub. In the absence of the Citadel, transfers had to happen planet side or on local satellites, nearly doubling travel times, compounding an already stressful situation, which wouldn’t be good for the average, nonpregnant person.

She looked shy for the first time since he’d given her the water, like she didn’t want to say. Garrus was going to tell her that she didn’t have to, but Myrra went on without any prompting. “My husband is there working. He’s been there for a few months trying to get things ready. He sent for me last week, and I had to go.”

Garrus’ mind spiraled with thoughts of the young mother to be being pulled away from her family to be with someone she hardly knew, someone who’d gotten her pregnant and left. Garrus acknowledged his own bias. The guy could have loved Myrra, they could have known each other before they’d gotten married and both decided this was what was best, but there was something about the way she phrased it that all but confirmed that this wasn’t so.

“Wait, he’s working on Earth?” That wasn’t something Garrus had ever heard of. Most batarians hated everything connected with humans. He couldn’t imagine one going there willingly.

More hesitance. “The humans, they… They have this thing where they’ll give us a place to live, give us work. They said it’s to make amends… Repar...reparations?” She spoke so quickly, Garrus had to concentrate to understand. “My folks, they didn’t want to come, but I don’t want my child to grow up like I did, always moving from place to place. She deserves something stable.” She smoothed her hands over her belly tenderly, tugging at Garrus’ heartstrings.

“How old are you, Myrra? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I’ve just entered my eighteenth year.” She had been a baby when everything had happened, getting ready to enter secondary school if she’d been born a turian. Garrus couldn’t imagine what she’d experienced growing up in the middle of all that.

“If you don’t mind indulging an old timer, could you tell me what you remember about the war?”

Myrra’s face pinched into a thoughtful expression, and he realized he had never seen a batarian who looked like she was deep in thought before. “I was only 10 when it started. Most of it’s a blur of smoke and tears. But I remember we just picked up from our homes and left. My parents wouldn’t say why. We couldn’t really take anything. We just packed up everything and went to the Citadel. We didn’t stay there long.” She wet her lips again with the water bottle. “We moved around from planet to planet for a while, like we were trying to outrun something. I never really knew what was happening, just that the adults didn’t want to talk about it. At night, I used to hear my mother cry after she put me to bed when she thought I was sleeping.” She trailed off, her face darkening.

Garrus hadn’t meant to take her down this path. The war was a touchy subject for anyone old enough to remember it. He’d hoped she wouldn’t have so many clear memories of pain.

“I’m sorry. I got a little carried away. I didn’t mean to pry.” Apologies had never been easy for him, but sincerity eased the way.

“It’s OK,” Myrra assured wiping her nose a corner of her robes. “I don’t mind really. It’s just all so much. I’ve never been away from my family before or around so many krushek.” Garrus translator flubbed the word, but he’d heard it a few times before. It meant _people not like me_ or aliens. It should have just filled that in. “This is the longest I’ve ever spoke to someone who isn’t a batarian.”

“We’re on the same page there. I didn’t get to talk to many batarians before.” He’d spent more time shooting at them than speaking. To be fair, they shot at him, too. He didn’t think the distinction would make much difference to Myrra.

Getting off the past and moving on to a safer subject would be for the best. “Are you looking forward to settling on Earth? It’s a new place, a new start.”

Myrra quieted down again, the air between them grew thick and uncomfortable. He was being uncharacteristically chatty. It was awkward, but he couldn’t stop himself. An unfortunate side effect of being surrounded by people you didn’t _want_ to interact with for years was, when that changed, you couldn’t shut up. Myrra having no idea of who he was helped. She knew nothing about who he’d been or what he’d done. It was oddly freeing.

The quiet civilian life was never meant for him. The way they created and maintained relationships was a concept that Garrus couldn’t grasp, an intricate, exhausting dance of platitudes and hiding who you really were for years until you inevitably slipped, and they either accepted or rejected you.

People were never more honest than when you fought beside them, both your lives on the line. He wished he could go back 10 years. His life had never been easier or more complete than when he’d been a part of that team with Tali, Thane, the krogans, and Shepard, and he knew in his heart he’d never feel that way again.

“I’m not sure how I feel.” Myrra looked down at the half empty bottle in her lap. “This move means stability. We’ll work on getting a house. I’ve never lived in one before… It’s just… The down side is my husband is going to be the only person I know there and…the idea of being around so many humans makes me nervous.  I’ve never met one, but I know what they did to my people… What that one Shepard did.”

Garrus’ first response was to want to defend Shepard. He’d been there, knew what happened firsthand, but there was no way he could combat all the misinformation she’d been fed in a few hours. Not that she was wrong. Shepard would probably die of shame if he’d known that the decision he’d struggled with for months after the fact had made him a myth that instilled fear of his kind in these people. He’d done what he’d had to do, whether he liked it or not, and people died. There was no changing that. And there was likely no changing the image Myrra had of him in her head.

“There are good ones and bad ones like with anyone else,” was what he said instead. “I know a lot of them were upset about what Shepard did. They started that whole program on their own, right?” Not that there was anyone left to force their hand. No more Citadel, no more Council. The races looked to their own heads of state as their sovereigns and for now, everyone maintained an acceptable baseline of respect in public matters.

“My father said they’re doing it to try to stave off any repercussions to their economy. They feel guilty; they don’t want censure from the other races.” She sighed. “He isn’t happy about me going, but he doesn’t have much of a say in what I do anymore. My husband wants me there, so I have to go.”

There was finality to her words that Garrus didn’t like. This whole trip and change in status felt like a lateral move, changing one custodian for another. Garrus didn’t know anything about her husband other than the hint that he was more progressive than many of his kinsman, but that wasn’t enough to ease Garrus’ mind. More questions begged to be asked, but Garrus had imposed on her enough. The last thing he wanted was to insult her because he didn’t agree with the nuance of a culture he hardly knew anything about.

It might have been his age showing, but he couldn’t just leave it with Myrra walking into a potentially disastrous situation. She was so young, and should have had her whole life ahead of her. There was no reason for her to be trapped in a bad situation if this turned out to be such. Not when there were people who could help her. People like Garrus.

Garrus managed to talk Myrra into letting him cover her meal during the dinner service. “It’s not for you; it’s for the baby.” That had been enough to get her guard down. He waited until they were mostly through their meal before he set his plan into motion.

“Do you have an omnitool, Myrra?”

“Why?” They’d been chatting companionably for most of the flight, yet Myrra was still wary. That bit of shrewdness endeared her to him all the more.

Garrus ripped the corner off one of the cheap travel magazines from the back of the forward facing seat and hunted around in his carry-on bag for a pen. He kept one on him at all times on the off chance he ran into some of these new age luddites, people who rejected the technology that had governed their lives for as long as anyone living could remember, or so the media story went. In all these years Garrus had worked his job, Myrra was only the second person Garrus had met who needed such an accommodation.

“I’m going to be on Earth for a while, and I’d like to check on you when we both have the time for it—if you don’t mind? Find out how the baby’s doing, that sort of thing.”

Myrra’s fork hovered in midair. He deep brown eyes fixed on Garrus’ face, narrowing. “Why?”

This girl…

Garrus shook his head, chuckling to himself. “I find myself interested in your welfare. You remind me of someone I used to know.”

Myrra lifted her chin as she slid the empty food tray away from herself. “I didn’t mean for you to get the wrong idea. Even if I was available, I wouldn’t be interested. No offense. I’m much too young for you, and you’re much too… _turian_ for me.  And if that’s not your intention, I apologize. I don’t need your charity.” She said all this while the crumbs of her meal were still stuck to her bottom lip.

That defiance and pride were definitely familiar to Garrus. He remembered that same look on a certain human’s face, smudged with dirt and blood, while his world literally crumbled around him. He stared Garrus down to make sure he got into a transport and out of Harbinger’s range, insisting he had to go on alone. Garrus could have been useful. His injuries wouldn’t have stopped him from jumping back into the fray, but those eyes had held him in place.

If he had any untoward ideas for Myrra, that look she gave him would have set him straight, too.

He scribbled his extranet address on the scrap of paper in what he hoped was a legible hand.  “It’s not anything inappropriate, and it’s not charity. And even if it was, everyone needs help sometime. I want you to have this, and if you contact me, that would be great. If you don’t? Still great. It’s entirely your call. But if I had a say, I’d like to keep in touch.” He held out the slip of paper towards her. “I want to see you do well, and you deserve to at least have the chance.”

Myrra took the paper, carefully folded it and packed it into one of the pockets of her carry-on.

Garrus grinned, not in triumph, but relief. “Thanks for indulging an old turian.”

Myrra’s husband, Shar, was waiting for her at the gate. She insisted Garrus meet him before they parted ways. “I won’t be messaging strange men I met while traveling without telling my husband. There’s no kind of illicit relation between us, and what better way to prove that than by introducing you?” Garrus found it tough to argue with that logic.

Myrra had been oblivious to Garrus’ reputation, but not Shar. He stared at him in wide eyed awe, but said nothing to Myrra, who looked on as he gaped at Garrus in confusion.

“I’ll remind her to message you, sir. I’ll put your contact info in her omnitool myself.” He offered Myrra his arm as he helped her go slowly down the short flight of steps. They left the terminal together arm in arm, chatting away between them. The weight on Garrus’ shoulders lifted as he watched. Maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about her after all. Myrra having a direct line to one of the most well-known turians in recent years might help, too. Garrus’ fame might actually be useful for once.

Garrus gathered his luggage from the baggage claim and stepped out into the late evening sun to hail a cab. He headed for the air rail station for the last leg of his trip. Soon this would all be over.


	3. Chapter 3

Garrus arrived at the air rail in time to watch the train he needed pull away from the platform. “That’s just great… Fantastic.” There wouldn’t be another for two hours—nearly the length of the train ride itself!

The rest area was little more than a glass box in the center of the platform with cushioned seats and vending machines, though nothing here was meant for people who weren’t human or asari. The seats were so narrow; he had to lift the armrest divider between two of them to fit. The glass box shielded him from the rain that had started, but not the chill and the damp that came with it. So this was spring on Earth, huh? Too cold and damp for his turian sensibilities. He missed the balmy Palave atmosphere already. The rain silvered anything outside of the waiting area with moisture. Large lamps illuminated everything his omnitool’s light didn’t reach.

He’d turned the damn thing back on to help those two hours creep along. Watching the rain could only hold his attention for so long!

Dealing with Myrra had put the conversation with his father well out of his mind, but the 15 or so missed call messages and new text alerts brought it back in full focus.  

_That you’ve grown older does not mean my role as your father is over. I believe I deserve a little more respect that you’ve been showing lately._

_That said, I only say what I do because I want the best for you. You’ve built up a good reputation, and you’re on the path to becoming something great. I don’t want to see you throw it all away chasing ghosts._

_Whatever you might find out there, not disturbing the bones might be the best thing you can do. I love you, and I’m proud of you. Always._

Aegeus meant well, in his own way. Garrus knew that. He blamed their differences on his father growing up in a bygone age where he was taught to strive for honor and status, things that didn’t drive Garrus the same way. Despite those differences, his father did have some idea of what motivated his son. A sense of duty, of loyalty to his friends. He knew there was only one reason Garrus would be going to Earth, and it wasn’t exactly a secret.

There had been Shepard sightings since he’d disappeared, coming from as far as Thessia to Omega and everywhere in between. All of them were unsubstantiated, though, Garrus did look into the ones that made sense, like the report of him boarding a shuttle for Rakhana. There’d been no mention of who he was traveling with, but Thane hadn’t spent his life operating beneath the notice of most people to start screwing up now.

The occasional picture accompanying such accounts was always blurry and off-center, taken by a hidden omnitool on the sly, but none of them had ever shown the real Russell Shepard.

The skin would be too dark or too light, the subject would be too tall or too short. Garrus had never been well versed in the fine details of nonturian traits—he was even worse now after all these years secluded in turian space—but even he knew better than to buy into this.

It was entirely plausible that Russell had visited these places, but no one would ever know for sure. He’d always tried to stay low key, even before the war. The most recent pictures of him were from his hearing on Earth, but before that, all the pictures were from shortly after Torfan. He’d never wanted to show up on anyone’s radar. He hadn’t wanted to be a hero. Having a job and doing it well enough to take care of himself were all he’d ever wanted out of life. He’d thought this path was supposed to be easy.

Garrus could relate.

Rooting out corruption was a bigger task than he’d anticipated. All the bad guys didn’t just wear masks, and all the people who were supposedly good didn’t line up to help him. When he’d met Shepard, Garrus had been so young and naïve. It embarrassed him to look back on it now. He really thought that when he’d signed on for Shepard’s fight against Saren, that would be the scope of it. Together, they’d rid the galaxy of Saren and his ilk. When Shepard died…Garrus thought that was it for the galaxy, but he couldn’t just leave it there. He had to keep going in Shepard’s name!

Look at how that turned out.

Older and wiser now, he knew that that fight was one without end. He didn’t have it in him to fight anymore.

After they’d reunited on Omega, Russell had confided in him once of his need for peace, how he’d never meant to get involved in the fight against the reapers, but once it started, he couldn’t just pass it off to someone else. At the time, Garrus couldn’t understand how one of the most important people, who could actually make a difference, didn’t want to do more. He understood now.

It was amazing that Shepard lived through the end of the war, but he hadn’t come out of it the same way he’d gone in, physically or mentally. Once he’d gotten clearance to leave the hospital for good, he disappeared completely. His private extranet address remained open, but nothing came out of it. He left the Alliance fleet, and any properties he owned, including the apartment bequeathed to him by Admiral Anderson, had been abandoned and put up for sale. He was in the wind. If that wasn’t a clear request to be left alone, Garrus didn’t know what was.

All Garrus could do was wait for Shepard to contact him. He wasn’t the wait and twiddle his thumbs type, but that’s what he did once his search amounted to nothing. He’d never given up hope that Shepard was alive out there. Seeing him again was up in the air. That was, until a message from Taylor, J landed in his inbox.

Garrus didn’t know many humans and only one with that name. He hadn’t been Garrus’ favorite person aboard the Normandy, but they’d harbored no animosity. They’d respected each other, but they were by no means friends, indicated by the silence of the last eight years or so. So why break it now?

 _I hope this is the right Vakarian_ , the message began. _If not, I apologize in advance and please disregard this message. If this is the right G. Vakarian, then contact me at your earliest convenience. I have news about a mutual friend._

That was just the right amount of vagueness to be the real deal or a scammer, but definitely not something sent by mistake. Garrus sat on it for a few days and sent a reply. Worst case scenario, he’d get a message demanding his bank account information. There was no reason to appear _too_ eager to throw his money away if it was a scammer.

Whoever was on the other end of the message got back to him immediately with an omnitool address. They picked up on his first hail.

“Vakarian?”

“Jacob Taylor.” Jacob looked the same as the last time they’d seen each other, except for the sprinkling of gray in the hair on his chin. He’d let that grow out while the hair on top of his head disappeared. Garrus didn’t know if it was a good look or not. Jacob’s bare pate was reminiscent of an egg and reminded Garrus that he’d skipped lunch that day. “You look well.”

“You, too, Scars. The last time we saw each other must have been…”

“At that thing for Mordin,” Garrus finished. “The memorial.”

Jacob scratched his head. “Has it really been that long? Time really flies.” He launched into a story about his daughter, who they’d named after Russell, just as promised. She was big now as proven by the pictures Jacob held up to the camera, and apparently a genius. She’d skipped two grades and was getting ready to enter secondary school.

“Russ gets it from her mom,” Jacob said, beaming with pride. “What’s been going on with you?

Garrus brought him up to speed on his life, which felt painfully lackluster and empty by comparison. Now that their heartwarming reunion was over, Garrus got them back on track. “As nice as this has been, I doubt you called me just to catch up. What’s going on, Jacob?”

Jacob sat forward, combing fingers through his chin hair. Garrus had seen Russell do that a few times, but his chin hair had been far less impressive.

“That’s something I always liked about you, Garrus. You’re very no nonsense.” Jacob sighed, age settling into fine lines around his mouth and the corners of his eyes. “I’ve got news about Shepard.”

Cold cut into the pit of his stomach. Garrus had dreaded getting a call like this since Shepard disappeared. He told himself that not hearing from Russell was acceptable as long as he was alive out there somewhere. Jacob wouldn’t be calling him now unless he had big news. Potentially _bad_ news. “What have you heard?”

Jacob saw right through to the core of his confusion. “He’s not dead, Garrus,” his voice was soft, almost reverent. “We think we know where he is.”

“Thank the spirits.” Garrus’ body tingled from the sudden adrenaline rush. Russell was alive. But that only created more questions. How did they know for sure? Had they spoken to him? Where had he been all this time?

Garrus took a deep breath, not wanting to bombard Jacob. He’d allow himself one question.

“Who’s _we_?”

“Jacob and I.”

Miranda appeared at Jacob’s shoulder, resting a hand on the back of the chair. “You look good, Garrus.”

“Yeah, you, too,” he said absently. They always seemed like they were meant to be a team.

“He really hasn’t reached out to you, either?” Miranda sounded genuinely surprised. “You were as thick as thieves.

Garrus folded his arms over his chest. He couldn’t help feeling a little defensive. Did she think he would lie about this? At the very least, he’d let them know Shepard was alright if not his location. “I haven’t heard from him since he got a clean bill of health from the hospital. That’s what I know. What do _you_ know?”

“Not much more than you, up until a few weeks ago. We’d heard the same rumors as everyone else.”

“And then what?” Miranda was really dragging this out. “Did you reach out to Liara? Did she finally find something?”

“This isn’t amateur hour. We contacted her ages ago but…”

“Her network isn’t what it used to be,” Jacob finished for her.  “Some sectors are totally blocked off to her now due to new sanctions on information sharing and restrictions on the extranet. She’s doing what she can to bring it back up, but it wasn’t been easy.”

“How’d you manage to find information that was out of her reach?” If it sounded too good to be true, Garrus thought, it liked was.  

“Those sanctions don’t restrict the extranet you already have access to,” Jacob said. “He’s on Earth.”

“But how do you know? Something tells me you two aren’t in the civilian sector.”

“Civilian life was never a good fit. Seems like you should know that first hand.” Miranda stepped a little closer to the camera. “The way things stay as peaceful as they’ve been is through vigilance. Since we’ve been left to govern ourselves, I may have set up a casual network of conscious citizens. People who want do their part by helping maintain peace for humanity. They keep an eye on things, report back to me what they find, and I advise them on how to deal with incidents as they arise.”

“That sounds really familiar…”

“It’s not Cerberus, Garrus.” Miranda huffed, getting more annoyed. “It’s not about supremacy. It’s safety. We’ve got to take care of ourselves. Who else is going to do it? I won’t repeat the Illusive Man’s mistakes.”

Garrus tightened his arms. He wasn’t convinced, would probably never be. Now wasn’t the time to dig his heels in.

“We’ve narrowed down his location to within a few meters,” Jacob continued, moving the conversation along, “That’s the good part. The problem now is neither me nor Miranda can get away to check it out. We thought of you.”

“Why me?”

Miranda whispered something close to Jacob’s ear that made him get out of the chair and walk off screen. Miranda sat.

“I don’t think I have to tell you how sensitive this mission is. We can’t just hand it off to anyone who might take the info and run with it to the closest media outlet. And for Shepard, wouldn’t it be better for him to see someone who he knows? Someone from the Normandy would be ideal.”

“And I’m—what? Your third choice?”  

Aside from Jack, the rest of the humans seemed to huddle together. Miranda, Jacob, Joker. Shepard had on occasion with everything in both civilian and professional parts of his life. Garrus had been closer to Shepard than anyone else before Thane.

“You’re the first.”

Miranda glanced off screen. When she turned back to Garrus, she wore a look that determination that Garrus knew all too well.

“I need an answer, Garrus. Someone needs to move on this soon, and if it can’t be you, I’ll have to try my luck with someone else. So... What’s your answer?”

There was no way he could miss this chance.  He’d already started working out the first draft of his leave notice in his head. “Send me the information. I’ll leave tomorrow.”

Three days later, Garrus was on Earth, boarding a train to follow a lead that might go nowhere.

There wasn’t any place he’d rather be.

The tiny two car air train was the cleanest, emptiest vessel Garrus had ever been on. After hours in crowded shuttles and ports, this was absolutely delightful. He picked a row, stowed his kit in the overhead rack, and stretched out across both seats. The train took off smoothly, and the gentle rocking lulled him right to sleep. This was his first time on Earth when it wasn’t consumed by flames, but he’d have to try to take in the sights some other time.

He slept like the dead, heavy and dreamless. It was the longest stretch of uninterrupted sleep he’d had in days. He needed it.

“Excuse me?” A small voice, creaky with age called out to him. A matching hand touched his arm, squeezing his bony shoulder through his jacket. “We’ve stopped.”

Garrus shook off the sleep with a snort and quickly apologized. He’d probably snorted right in this human’s face. How rude was that? It took him another moment to get his bearings. The train had reached its final destination, and it was time for him to get off. He’d expected to see an attendant standing over him or a station agent waking him up. What he saw was not what he expected.

A slight, wrinkled old human stood at his elbow. She smiled at him as he got to his feet. She didn’t appear to be wearing a uniform, so she didn’t work for the rail or the station, though, from the wrinkles, she was probably too old for that if he remembered what Russell had told him. He pulled his bags down from the overhead rack, careful not to hit the other passenger with it. “Thanks for waking me.”

“No problem. But, I wonder, can I ask a favor for a favor?” She pointed toward the back of the train car. “Can you help me with my bag? I’ve already asked the rail for assistance, but they’re so slow. I don’t want to be out here all night long.”

Garrus followed her towards the back of the car and pulled down a bag that was nearly as big as she was. It was heavier than he’d expected, too. He hoped this thing had a mini mass effect field or something else that made it easy for its owner to drag around.

He added it to his to his own bags and brought them all onto the platform.

“Where to from here?”

“Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” She waved him off. “I can manage.”

That wasn’t going to happen.

His conscience wouldn’t let him walk away, leaving her alone with this heavy bag. He had to get to someone else who could help her out or into a cab. “It’s no trouble. I insist.”

She hesitated for a few seconds, looking like she really wanted to protest again, but she didn’t. “I do need to catch a cab.”

“I need to get one, too. I’ll go with you. See? It worked out.”

The elder nodded and led the way. She walked with such confidence, Garrus just assumed she knew where she was going. She’d likely been here before.

Unlike the last station, this one offered complete shelter from the elements. It was a ghost town in offpeak mode; most of the little storefronts were closed, and all the lights but those most necessary to make your way out were dim, but it wasn’t hard to picture it bustling during daylight hours.

The older human led them to a bench under the glowing blue sign of the cab stand. She sat. Garrus continued stretching his legs by standing. “We don’t get many turians out this way these days. Are you here for the anniversary?”

“Something like that.”

The elder looked out into the empty street. The rain had finally stopped and the few last drops of water dropped from the awning in front of them. “Did you see much fighting in the war? You look young enough.”

Garrus grinned to himself. Being called _young_ after Myrra insisted he was pretty much as old as dirt felt pretty good.

“I did. Pretty much every able body on Palaven did.” As such, most turians didn’t talk about the events of those weeks outside of an educational capacity. His was a race whose biggest source of pride was their collective military prowess. The war had shown how little their accolades and strategies had mattered when put up against an enemy who overwhelmed them in sheer fighting power. They hadn’t won this war; they’d survived. They weren’t used to just squeaking by.

“It was the same for Earth. I was too old to join in back then, but I had nieces, nephews who had to chip in. All of them were lucky enough to come back. Not the same as they’d left, but better than not coming back at all. I never had any children, thank god. I can’t imagine what it was like to go through that hell as a parent.” She pulled a small device out of one of her pockets, held it to her lips and breathed in. Wispy white smoke left her lips that she politely blew down wind. “Watching what happened to people I didn’t know was hard enough.”

“Were you here, on Earth, when everything went down?”

She shook her head. “No. But I was on my way back. I had spent years out in the Terminus, and I felt like I should come back when they started talking about the Reapers or whatever they were called. All that stuff they published about what that one soldier saw. It got to me.”

“He’d had a hell of a career up until that whole thing with the batarians. I don’t know how much you keep up with the human news outlets, but a lot of them just tried to paint him out to be a maniac. Like he’d just snapped and the whole thing up for shits and giggles. That didn’t make sense to me.” Another drag on that device, another puff of smoke. “I don’t know why they wouldn’t believe him. People wouldn’t believe me either. I tried to tell my ex-husband to come with me. My girl Jane, too. Neither listened. They thought it was stress, that I was heading home for a vacation. They didn’t make it out.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

She waved him off. “My losses aren’t greater than anyone else’s.” She blew a large cloud of vapor out of her nose that engulfed her head, hiding her eyes from Garrus’ view. “They had their chance. I warned them. That soldier warned them. They was I see it, he did his part. _More_ than his part, but no one would listen.”

Would asking to record all this be too weird?

Russell had needed to hear this very thing before he disappeared. He’d spent those last days insisting he hadn’t done enough. In his mind, there was always some glaringly obvious thing that he missed that had cost lives. There were those who agreed with him, but there were plenty of others who disagreed. And now Garrus had proof.

When a cab eventually showed, Garrus carried the wrinkled human’s bag off the curb. The driver popped the trunk, and Garrus loaded the heavy bag inside under the human’s watchful eye.

“What’ll you do now, stranger?”

Garrus shut the trunk. “Wait for another cab. I’ve still got a little ways to go tonight.”

“Nonsense. You’ll ride with me.” It was too late, and Garrus was too tired to deny her. He got in, careful not to crowd her side of the back seat. A surprisingly small amount of time later, their car stopped at the mouth of a dirt road, soggy from the rain.

Garrus got out, and the human leaned out of the window. Up the road, dim lights shone within the shadows of small structures.

“A construction camp, huh?”

Garrus hitched one of his bags higher on his shoulder. “Yeah. I’m looking for something. It might be here.”

The woman sat back down, worked to get comfortable. “I’m not sure what you could be looking for, but whatever it is, I hope you find it.”  

 


	4. Chapter 4

The streets were dark and abandoned. The occupants of the shanty town were either in bed or on their way there. The few intrepid souls he did pass paid him no attention, and Garrus didn’t go out of his way to draw more to himself. The less notice he attracted, the better.

The beacon program Miranda had sent him beeped as he got closer to the little red dot that would mark the end of his journey.

He stopped outside of a structure that was little more than a one-room lean-to, set apart from the others in this settlement. Behind the curtain covering the single, rough cut window, he could see a light. Whoever lived here was home and awake. Good. The chances of him getting some stranger out of bed if this turned out to be a huge waste of time were now cut in half.

What if this really was a waste of time? Miranda talked about the beacon as if it were infallible, but that’s what she thought of everything she came up with. What if this, the person who’d first spotted Shepard, what if they were all wrong? But what if they were right?

If Shepard was just on the other side of this door, what would Garrus say to him? Should he let him speak first?

He stood there, silently contemplating leaving, knocking, peeking in the window, all at once.

Then, the door opened on its own.

Through the crack, Garrus saw a familiar gaunt face, fuzzier than it had ever been when they’d worked together, leaner. The fingers gripping the door were thick with calluses. The man on the other side looked Garrus up and down, his mouth pressed into a tight line.

“Jesus, Garrus. You’ve gotten fat.” Russell had always sounded gravelly, but now he sounded like a door hinge rusted from disuse and sorely in need of oil.

Garrus’ mandibles flared at the barb, and he tossed one right back. “Better than losing as much as you have. You look sick. You got an ardat-yakshi in there sucking you dry?”

“That’s just from all the hard work. Better than sitting behind a desk.” He stared Garrus down, but the look was nothing compared to the surprise Garrus felt. Had Russell been keeping tabs on him?

Russell finally stepped aside, opening the door the rest of the way, revealing to Garrus what he already knew would be there. The metal of his prosthetic foot scraped against the floor while his replacement arm hung unnaturally at his side. “Well, come on. Get in here. I saw you skulking around outside, and I was waiting for you to knock. It was starting to look like you never would. But you know me. I take matters into my own hands when I’ve got to.”  

The inside of the house wasn’t nearly as bad as the outside. The floors were swept; there was a little table with a single chair, a cot. There was power running through this shanty town, but the only electrical appliances present were a small refrigerator and a terminal. The light Garrus had seen had come from the terminal resting on the table.

Shepard gestured towards the table. “Have a seat. Take a load off.” Garrus set his things by the door and took the offered chair. Shepard sat on the floor.

Garrus took in his surroundings one more time. This was certainly off the radar. The famous commander hiding out right in the thick of his people. Garrus would never have thought to look for him here. He hadn’t even known such a place existed.

He meant to start slow with some small talk maybe, but how did you just make small talk after what Garrus had gone through to get here? Still, he tried.

“How have you been?”

Russell shrugged lightly, looking up at Garrus from the darkness of the floor. “I’m doing OK. Tired most of the time. They work you pretty hard out here. They don’t go easy on you just because you’ve got a few missing parts.” He flexed his metal arm, completely bare of the synth skin it had on it the last time Garrus had seen it. “I’m probably due for a tune up.”

“What are you doing out here?” Besides squatting in a hovel. Alone.

“Just trying to help get things back to where they were, one building at a time.” He stretched his legs out in front of him and began kneading the calf on his fleshy leg. “Long hours, decent pay. The rent’s amazing, as you might imagine.” He laughed, but Garrus didn’t see a damn thing funny about any of this.

“Where the hell have you been, Shepard?” _Why didn’t you contact me?_

“Here and there.” He got off the floor and went to his fridge. He pulled out two bottles of water. He set one down on the table beside Garrus before returning to the floor. He unscrewed the top, took a sip. “I needed some time to myself. To clear my head.”

“For almost ten years?”

“Damn, has it really been that long?” He dug his fingers into his thick, coiled hair. “I knew it’s been a long time, but—really? Ten years?”

Garrus watched as Russell grappled with the timeline. He was quiet, staring down at a spot on the wood floor in front of him.

“I’m not who I was then… I’m not Commander Shepard anymore, but I don’t know what’s left once you strip all that away. I had to find out. I’ve been trying to find out all this time.”

That wasn’t fair. Garrus wanted to be upset, he felt it was his right as someone he’d cast aside, but he couldn’t. Not when he barely seemed to know how long it had been since they’d last seen each other. As usually, Russell was going through some stuff, and there didn’t seem to be much Garrus could do to help, but he could at least not make it worse.

“What about Thane? Does he know you’re here?”

He sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “He knows I’m somewhere. But not specifically.”

“You went through all that hassle to save him to just abandon him, too?”

“You watch your mouth.” Anger flared in Russell and for a second, he seemed like his old self. “I would never up and leave him. I told him what was happening. He’s in decent health, Kolyat is with him. I talk to him every few days. I’ve only been here for a year or so. I think…”

“So you tell him where you are, just not me.” Garrus hadn’t meant to say that or for the words to come out so hurt. But he was hurt. He’d thought they’d been friends beyond the battlefield. That no matter what happened, as long as they got out of this thing alive, they’d at least be in touch with each other. But Shepard had just treated him like everyone else who wasn’t Thane.

“That was out of line… I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re right. I should have said something before. You shouldn’t have had to come find me.” He got up again and walked over to the table. He hit a few buttons on his terminal and turned the screen so Garrus could see. On it was an article detailing his departure from his position back on Palaven. “I’ve been keeping track, even if I’ve been out of touch. You’ve been busy carving out a new life for yourself, and I didn’t want to interfere with that. Once I got my head on straight, I was going to reach out again, but one year turned into two, two into four and so on.” He gestured towards the screen. “When I saw that I knew something was up.  I kind of hoped you’d find me. I didn’t think you actually would.”

Knowing he’d been watched from the shadows was odd, but it was probably all Russell could do.  He felt a little better knowing he was at least in Russell’s thoughts. “I didn’t do it alone. I got the info on where to find you from Miranda and Jacob. They—pretty much everyone—wants to know your status, too. I’m supposed to report back with what I’ve found.” But he’d leave it up to Russell to decide.

“You could leave, and I’ll tell them I just missed you, if you want.” Russell had tried so hard to stay hidden. It had taken this long to find him, it might take another 10 years to find him if he went to ground again.

Russell shook his head. “You can tell them the truth. They already found me once. I don’t know how much good hiding from them again would be.”

“Are you sure you’re OK to do this? Did you… have you found yourself?”

Russell shrugged. “I don’t think I’m going to know until I go out and see for myself. That I have to at least try. I think I’ve known that for a while.”

“Then, what were you waiting for? To build up the courage? For the perfect time?”

Russell shook his head, smiling in a way that brought the commander to mind again. “I think I was waiting for you to find me.”  

 


End file.
